


Heart's Song

by Raicheru



Series: Here We Go a Witchering [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Drunk Jaskier (but no drunk sex), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Jaskier, Established Relationship, Jaskier's Dad was a Dick, M/M, Oral Sex, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier have settled into Lettenhove for the winter, but the bard is restless.  What is a bard without an audience?  But when Geralt retrieves him from the tavern in town, he isn't performing.  Instead he's drinking away old pains.  Geralt struggles to find the words to comfort his bard and help him sing again.*Takes place after Masquerade but can be read as a one-shot.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Here We Go a Witchering [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654147
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115





	Heart's Song

Geralt took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he balanced his sword on his knees. He was kneeling in the middle of the practice hall that had been set up in the estate in Lettenhove, trying in vain to meditate. He could hear the bard's lute from somewhere down the hall. Geralt was grateful for the opportunity to regain his strength in safety and relative peace. But it was a different challenge trying to find peace of mind here than when on the road. When he and Jaskier traveled together, they didn't spend every second of the day together. Geralt would fulfill contracts and hunt for food or the occasional potion ingredient. Jaskier would perform and find ways to entertain himself while engaging with people in the villages and towns they visited when he wasn't trailing along after him. It generally gave them the opportunity to do their own thing and have some distance while still staying together on the road. But It wasn't the same staying still in one location for an extended period of time. 

With the exception of Kaer Morhen, Geralt rarely stayed in one place for this long. And wintering in the keep was full of chores and training with his brother wolves. As much as he enjoyed having Jaskier's attention and sharing a bed with him, he now wished for some true solitude for the first time in a while. Not permanently, of course. He knew he would miss the bard's presence when he was gone. But his nerves had already been stretched thin during his captivity when he'd been captured by bounty hunters and nearly been sold in an underground auction. If it hadn't been for Jaskier finding his wolf medallion in the market in Cidaris and using considerable resources to find him, Geralt might have become part of someone's private collection. 

It wasn't the first time he'd been captured or arrested, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Geralt had seen the inside of far more dungeons and jail cells than he was comfortable with. Now he was trying to settle himself and find a way to get comfortable in his own skin again. Being this disconnected on the Path would lead to mistakes that would get him injured or killed. Or worse, put Jaskier in harm's way when he inevitably got in the way. That wasn't something he was willing to risk.

The lute music grew louder as Jaskier sauntered down the hallway in his direction. The bard poked his head in the doorway, stilling the strings with his fingers when he saw Geralt kneeling.

“Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you were meditating,” he said.

Geralt took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes, ignoring him, but not unkindly. Jaskier was mouthy and annoying most of the time, but he could be oddly respectful when he wished. He'd been particularly considerate while Geralt recovered. While Geralt hadn't been physically injured when Jaskier rescued him in from tunnels under the Ademar estate in Cidaris, he'd been severely weakened. Geralt wondered idly how many times he'd tried to escape. He didn't remember much, but he knew he wouldn't have sat passively by while he was prepared for sale. The weight and muscle mass he'd lost were a bit more than just from inactivity and a most likely light diet. Magical healing put a lot of strain on the body. While mages could accomplish a lot of amazing things, they couldn't create something from nothing. He imagined he'd been injured and healed more than once by his captors which led to his body feeling wrung out and weak. 

“Are you alright?”

Geralt opened his eyes but kept them narrow as he glared at the door. “I told you that you'd pay every time you asked me that,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. The loving attention he'd received after waking up here had been surprisingly enjoyable. At first. When it tipped into nervous fawning and worrying, Geralt felts his nerves begin to vibrate with tension and annoyance.

“Yes, well.” Jaskier grinned. “You never did specify what the payment would be.” The bard hugged the doorway, tilting his head and wagging his eyebrows suggestively. 

“You won't like it,” Geralt growled, closing his eyes again. 

“Well that's boring.” Jaskier huffed, deflating visibly. He stood in silence for a while and the only sound was his breathing and the steady beat of his heart. The younger man was perfectly capable of being calmly quiet. He just rarely showcased that particular hidden talent. “I'm going to go in to town,” he announced suddenly.

“You do that.”

“If you need me. . .”

“I won't.”

“Okay. I. . .right. I'll just. . .”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier blew out a breath and drummed his fingers on the body of the lute for a moment. Then Geralt heard the rustle of fabric and the soft thump of sullen footfalls as he left. Geralt sighed. He doubted that Jaskier would take the dismissal to heart. The bard had already forgiven him for far worse. They both just needed some space from each other right now. And Jaskier needed people. The longer the bard went without an audience, the more distracted he became. Going into town and playing at one of the taverns would be good for him. Geralt took a deep breath and focused on his breathing, letting his body relax and his mind wander.

Sometime later, he felt Greta's presence in the doorway. Cracking an eye open, he saw a worried expression on the steward's face. Given that she was generally unflappable as far as he'd seen, it was worrisome and he felt his attention sharpening. 

“Is everything alright?”

“I wouldn't ordinarily bother you Geralt, but Julian's not back yet.”

“How long has it been?” He usually had no trouble gauging the passage of time while meditating, but he'd been having trouble focusing lately.

“Several hours have passed since he sulked his way out of the house. It's getting dark and there's weather on the way. A storm's coming.”

Geralt could feel the trembling on the air that signaled a sharp change in the weather, mostly likely a turn for the worse. The town wasn't that far away from the manor, but the cold could be dangerous for the unwary. “Worst case is he's stuck at the inn for a couple days. Being stranded there won't hurt him. Besides, it would give him captive audience.”

“He didn't take his lute,” she said. “So unless he's taken up singing a capella by himself, I highly doubt he went there to perform.”

Geralt stood smoothly, ignoring the slight ache of muscles that were out of practice. Sheathing the sword, he headed for bedroom he shared with Jaskier as Greta followed at his heels. He ignored her for the moment as he pulled on his boots and gathered up his cloak and Jaskier's, which was still hanging in one of the tightly packed wardrobes. He'd never seen anyone that owned so many clothes before. The fool hadn't bothered to dress warmly enough, as usual. 

“There's no need to frown like that young man,” Greta said, crossing her arms over her bosom. “You've done nothing that warrants such a guilty expression.” 

Geralt didn't bother telling her that he was probably more than twice as old as her and hadn't been a _young man _for a very long time. “I threw him out earlier.” He wasn't sure why he was explaining himself.__

__Greta rolled her eyes. “You're not the reason he hightailed it out of here. If anything, he seems to like it when you snap and bite. Half of his prodding is just to get you to growl at him.”_ _

__“I'm aware of that,” Geralt rumbled._ _

__“Then there's no need to look like a martyr headed for the pyre. You're going to collect his sorry arse and bring him home before the storm hits, not throw yourself on your sword for some imagined sin.”_ _

__“If it wasn't me, why did he leave?”_ _

__“Probably to drink himself into a stupor. Staying at the estate has that effect on him,” she said, her tone softening. “He doesn't usually linger here this long.”_ _

__Geralt had seen his nervousness as he walked the halls, but dismissed it as worry over Geralt's condition. He stuck to Geralt's side as often as he'd let him, but perhaps it wasn't clinginess that made him stay close. “If it bothers him that much, I'll take him somewhere else for the winter.”_ _

__Greta snorted. “Sure. You're going to pry him out of here after he's made the decision to stay. I'd like to see that. He's not gotten any less stubborn as he's gotten older.”_ _

__“It's my fault he felt compelled to stay in the first place. I can't let him make himself miserable for my sake.”_ _

__“Gods, save me from romantic, self sacrificing idiots,” she muttered. “Just get him back here in one piece. He's not miserable, he's just wallowing in things best left in the past.”_ _

__“Which is most likely making him miserable,” Geralt said._ _

__“Go before it gets dark. We can argue about the emotional state of our missing bard when he's back home again. Fergus already has your horse ready in the stable.”_ _

__Geralt just nodded and headed for the door. Fergus was a capable handler and Roach seemed to like him, which was a wonder in and of itself. The only other person she generally tolerated, aside from Geralt, was Jaskier. Snow was already falling in soft, steady clumps and the ground was now cold enough that it didn't melt on contact. It would take about twenty minutes to ride into town. He hoped that they'd have enough time to return before the bulk of the storm hit. The clouds had gathered on the horizon and they were heading steadily in this direction. Roach grumbled and pawed at the ground as he mounted._ _

__“You've gotten spoiled already,” Geralt said, patting her neck gently. “It's just a short trip and then you can hunker down inside where it's warm again.”_ _

__The roads were still relatively clear and twilight was just starting to fall as he headed toward town. He'd visited once with Jaskier when he'd had enough of being confined to bed. But he was quickly reminded of why he didn't spend much time among people and was relieved to return to the estate. There was nobody out, except for travelers heading home before the storm, but the common room at the inn was still mostly full of local patrons. Jaskier was slumped at a table in the corner with his head resting on his arms. There were two men eyeing him, like they were sizing up their chances of going through his pockets while he slept. Geralt put a hand on the taller one's shoulder and just shook his head when he turned to look at him. Both men scrambled for the door._ _

__When Geralt gently shook Jaskier's shoulder, the bard snapped up so fast, he rapped his head on the wall behind him. Wincing as he blinked up at him, Jaskier grinned._ _

__“Geralt, my love,” he slurred happily. “Have a drink with me.” He grasped the bottle that was sitting on the table and tipped it to pour into his cup, but it was empty. He held it up and peered into the mouth of the bottle. “Hmm. Barkeep, another.”_ _

__Geralt waved at the man behind the bar and shook his head. He held up his coin pouch with a question on his face, but the innkeeper just shook his head. So Jaskier had either paid for his drinks already, or he'd bought the entire bar. Either option was equally likely._ _

__“Come on,” Geralt urged, pulling the younger man to his feet. He wrapped him in the cloak he'd brought and started steering him toward the door. Jaskier drunkenly turned and pressed into him, his hands sneaking inside the folds of Geralt's cloak so he could curl his fingers in the fabric of his shirt._ _

__“It's not that I hate my father,” Jaskier said in attempt at being serious that came out almost comical. “It's just that he was a complete and utter cock.” He looked around, blinking like he'd never seen the place before. “Are we on the Path again already? My goodness, winter was short this year.”_ _

__Geralt took a deep breath and pried the bard loose before trying to move him toward the door again. When Jaskier tried to switch direction and head toward the bar, he just scooped him up in his arms and carried him out, not caring who was watching._ _

__“Oh, that's better,” Jaskier said, snuggling into his chest. He grumbled as they stepped outside and snowflakes started settling on his face. “Fucking cold,” he muttered._ _

__Geralt managed to get him on Roach, despite a near miss as Jaskier leaned forward to try and kiss her nose from the saddle, nearly dumping himself onto the ground. Geralt mounted behind him and wrapped his cloak around them both to keep him warm. But the ride itself was relatively sedate as Jaskier settled back against him and started singing bawdy songs with varying levels of coherence, his slurred voice leaving half of the words unintelligible. They got back to the estate just before the wind started picking up and the snow started swirling enough to hinder visibility. Geralt left Roach to Fergus who nodded at him before leading her to her stall. Geralt carried Jaskier inside, stopping inside the door so he could set him down and shed their snowy cloaks. He gave them them to Greta who stood waiting for them. Jaskier had gotten very quiet as they came indoors. He looked morosely at Greta._ _

__“He's not still up, is he?”_ _

__“No, Dear Heart,” she said as she patted his cheek gently. “He's dead in the ground where he belongs.”_ _

__“Oh. Good.” Jaskier leaned back against Geralt and craned his neck around to look up at him. “Geralt,” he said, sounding surprised to see him. “Have a drink with me.”_ _

__Geralt rolled his eyes and picked him up again, making Jaskier giggle and wrap his arms around his neck. He rested his head on Geralt's shoulder and sighed. Geralt had seen him inebriated before, but he couldn't recall ever seeing him this drunk. He didn't bother saying anything, as it was doubtful Jaskier would remember it in the morning. Bringing him to the bedroom, he set him on the end of the bed. Jaskier flopped back onto the covers with his legs hanging off the edge and Geralt started pulling off his boots. By the time he was done undressing him, the bard was snoring softly. Geralt settled him on the bed and tucked him under the covers. He sat watching him for a few moments before looking around the room._ _

__This wasn't the master suite. That was located in the other wing of the building, almost as far away as you could get from this part of the house. This room was full of silks and comforts and was obviously a space that housed a musician. There were shelves of books, several different instruments, including a spare lute, a harp, a tambourine, and a flute. There were sheaves of parchment everywhere and several notebooks open to pages filled with Jaskier's tight scrawl. It was obvious that this was his room, now that Geralt was taking in the details._ _

__Jaskier hummed in his sleep as he shifted under the covers. Shucking his clothes, Geralt climbed under with him. Jaskier immediately snuggled into him, pressing himself against his side and tucking his head under his chin as Geralt gathered him in. He held him close as he drifted off to sleep._ _

__*******_ _

__Geralt woke to the sound of Jaskier being noisily sick in the washroom. It seemed his night out was catching up with him in the worst way. It wasn't quiet light yet and from the sound of wind against the windowpanes, it was obvious that the storm was still going strong outside. The door to the hall opened quietly and Greta came in with a plate of bread and eggs and a steaming mug that smelled of chamomile tea._ _

__“Oh, bless your heart, Greta,” Jaskier said as he stumbled back into the room. He bypassed the food and went directly for the tea. He smelled strongly of bergamot and rosewater like he'd blindly grabbed at whatever bottles had been closest._ _

__“Did you actually make it in time or do I have a mess on my hands?” Greta eyed him balefully. Jaskier had the grace to look embarrassed._ _

__“I made it,” he said quietly as he took a sip of hot tea. Closing his eyes and sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed. Greta came over and brushed a few stray strands of hair from his forehead._ _

__“You are the master of the house, Dear Heart,” she said fondly. “No one tells you what to do.”_ _

__Jaskier opened his eyes and glanced over at Geralt, making Greta roll her eyes._ _

__“Any orders he gives you are likely for the sake of your safety.” She trailed her fingers down Jaskier's cheek and gently tugged his ear in what appeared to be a fond, habitual gesture. It made Jaskier smile behind the mug. “Try to show some restraint for a bit. It will do you no good to make yourself sick over things you can't change.”_ _

__Jaskier didn't reply as Greta left the room. He looked at the plate and curled his lip before picking it up and taking a few bites of eggs and bread. “So,” he said between bites. “Did I, uh. . .say anything last night?”_ _

__“How much do you remember?”_ _

__“I decided to go into town. It had started to snow.” Jaskier glanced at the window. “You didn't go to too much trouble bringing me home, did you?”_ _

__“Far less than pulling you out of a monster's den.” Which had happened more than once before. “Though I wonder if you paid for your drinks or bought the entire bar.” Geralt propped himself up on the pillows but made no move to get up._ _

__“Hmm. Bertram refuses to let me pay for anything.” Jaskier frowned and took another bite of eggs. Ordinarily, he'd he'd be ecstatic about free drinks, but he seemed unhappy. Pausing, he closed his eyes and swallowed as if he was deciding if the food would stay down. But he took a sip of tea and sighed softly. The danger seemed to have passed. “It looks like we'll be stuck inside for a while,” he said glumly._ _

__“Jaskier-”_ _

__“Maybe I'll go through the library again and try to find that book of poems I hid,” Jaskier said, interrupting him. “Had to keep it hidden so it wouldn't get burned,” he said darkly. Cleaning off the plate, he put it on the tray and took his dishes out of the room without another word._ _

__Geralt watched him go with a concerned look. He didn't like seeing the bard so unhappy. Jaskier was typically carefree, sometimes dangerously so. Aside from his puffed up shows of insult and disdain, which were mostly for show, he rarely displayed such genuine discontent and buried sadness. They'd leave Lettenhove as soon as they were able, and unless Jaskier wanted to visit Greta in the future, they wouldn't linger here again._ _

__Getting up and dressing, Geralt grabbed his sword and headed for the training room. He spent the next couple of hours going through the forms and movements he'd been taught as a child in Kaer Morhen. He understood what it was like to have memories of a place he wished to bury. Geralt still had trouble going down to the lab. With the mutations and training softening his fear, it wasn't the blind terror it would have been if he'd still been strictly mortal, but he still felt a brief, tightening twinge in his belly every time he went down the stairs. The echos of children screaming still echoed in those halls no matter how hard he tried to forget them._ _

__Jaskier had never spoken of his childhood, but Geralt knew that being born into privilege didn't exempt anyone from cruelty or mistreatment. Jaskier's father in particular seemed to haunt the bard even though he was long dead. Geralt wouldn't pry. It wasn't in him to demand information or answers because it truly wasn't his business. As much as he cared for Jaskier, he wasn't well practiced in comforting others, but he'd do his best to be there, as much as he was able. He paused as he heard the bard swear viciously from somewhere down the hall and he lowered his sword. The angry tirade continued with with oaths and epitaphs that surprised even the worldly Witcher who had heard his fair share of foul language across the Continent._ _

__Sheathing the sword, he went to find Jaskier and find out what had sparked such ire in him. There was the tinkling crash of breaking glass as Geralt entered the library. A crystal ink pot lay in pieces next to the desk and Jaskier was staring down at it with wide, angry eyes. His gaze flicked up to Geralt as he entered the room._ _

__“That fucking, cock sucking prick!” he hissed. He was angrier than Geralt had ever seen him._ _

__“What's wrong?” Geralt asked him softly. Jaskier's fingers flexed in a nervous gesture as he stood shaking._ _

__“Do you know what it's like to be meant for something only to be denied what you need? To have it nearly ripped away from you forever?”_ _

__Geralt wasn't sure how to answer that or if the younger man even needed him to. He glanced over at the desk to see an open book that looked like a journal._ _

__“He had my fingers broken,” Jaskier spat, his voice choking on tears. Geralt moved forward and pulled him into his arms, holding him as he started to shake._ _

__“It's alright,” he said lamely, knowing his words were woefully inadequate. He held him close and rubbed a hand up and down his back as he struggled to find better words. Jaskier stood motionless for a while until he finally started to relax. Melting into him gradually, he wrapped his arms around Geralt's waist._ _

__“Once on a trip to Cidaris, I was. . .” He huffed as he swallowed and tried again, his voice firmer._ _

__“Hush. You don't have to.”_ _

__“No. I-” Jaskier tilted his head up to look at him as his anger started to fade into a horrible kind of anguish. “I need.” His fingers clenched in the fabric of Geralt's shirt along his lower back. “I want to talk about it. I need to.”_ _

__“Come on then.” Geralt led him over to a plush window seat that was packed with cushions. The storm had softened to a soft snowfall and the courtyard outside the window panes was an idyllic winter scene. Setting his sword aside, he sat and pulled the bard into his lap. They sat quietly for a few moments as Jaskier calmed himself and rested his head on Geralt's shoulder._ _

__“I started to learn how to play the harp when I was young. I loved it. Music became everything, but my father didn't think it was a worthy pastime for his son and heir. He hated it and had my harp thrown into the fire one night when he was angry about some trade deal that had fallen through.” Jaskier licked his lips and swallowed. “I learned to hide it after that. Greta helped. There are some loose floor boards in my room and there is a false bottom in one of my wardrobes. I never played or sang when he was home.”_ _

__Geralt rested his cheek on Jaskier's hair and rubbed his fingers idly against his arm. He had no words to offer for that kind of pain. All he had to give was his presence._ _

__“We traveled to Cidaris when I was twelve so my father could meet with some of his business partners. While he was in a meeting, Greta and I went to the market. There are so many things you can find there. But instead someone found me. Bandits cornered us and they took me to one of the ships in the harbor. Greta still has the scar from where they cut her.” Jaskier's took on a hard edge. “She tried to stop them. The guard escorting us was nowhere to be found._ _

__“I thought they were trying to get a ransom. They. . .they broke my fingers.” Jaskier swallowed again and let out a shuddering breath. Geralt raised Jaskier's hand up and brushed his lips over the bard's knuckles. There were no signs of scars or crooked bones. “I couldn't play for years after that, but it didn't stop me. I still learned everything I could about music and poetry. Then I finally had my hands healed with magic when when I went away to Oxenfurt to study. I was fifteen.”_ _

__Three years without being able to play properly. To Jaskier that must have been an eternity and Geralt regretted every time he'd complained or asked him to stop playing his lute._ _

__“And now, more than a decade later,” Jaskier continued, anger bleeding into his words._ _

__“I find out that piece of shit had it done on purpose.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the journal on the desk. “He hired them to break me so I couldn't play anymore. I'd refused to learn swordplay, so he decided that if I wouldn't do what he wanted, I wouldn't do anything at all.”_ _

__Geralt tilted Jaskier's head up with a finger under his chin so he could kiss him, long and sweet. Actions were always so much easier than words. Jaskier hummed into his mouth and shifted so he was straddling Geralt's lap. He deepened the kiss and Geralt let him take the lead. Jaskier cupped Geralt's face in his hands and licked his way into his mouth, demanding and needy. Geralt was more than willing to give as he slid his hands down Jaskier's back to settle them on his ass, his fingers kneading the skin. Jaskier groaned into his mouth as his hardening cock pressed into Geralt's stomach._ _

__“Oh, my!” There was a quiet gasp from the doorway and Jaskier scrambled back to press himself into the other side of the window seat. A dark flush spread across his cheeks before quickly composing himself._ _

__“What can I do for you, Greta my dear?” Jaskier asked, laying on the charm as he always did when he was nervous. She was trying to smother a grin._ _

__“Forgive me for interrupting, but lunch is on the table if you've the stomach to eat.”_ _

__“That would be wonderful,” Jaskier said a little too enthusiastically. “We'll be down in a moment.” When she left the room, Jaskier started giggling and couldn't seem to stop._ _

__“Smooth,” Geralt said, his lips quirking at the corner in amusement. But when Jaskier's laughter slowly dissolved into tears, he moved forward and gathered him into his arms again. Jaskier seemed to shrink and he suddenly seemed so much younger. Geralt was at a bit of a loss as to what to do, and he could only hold him and wait it out. He held him close and stroked his hair but didn't say anything. When Jaskier finally trailed off into soft huffs of breath, he hugged Geralt tightly._ _

__“We'd better go to the kitchen before Greta comes looking for us again.” His voice was muffled in the fabric at Geralt's shoulder. The never used the drafty dining hall for meals, choosing instead to eat in the cozy kitchens at the back of the house._ _

__“Are you alright?” Geralt asked him quietly._ _

__“Hmm. I'm glad you're here. I don't think I could stand to stay the winter without you.” Jaskier leaned up to kiss him again, though not with the same amount of urgency as before. He seemed far more settled when they parted and got up to go down to the kitchen._ _

__Lunch was a hearty chicken soup that had been simmering on the hearth since the early hours of the morning. Greta tended to have insomnia and spending the idle hours cooking to pass the time. It was well worth the effort, as her food was some of the best Geralt had ever tasted. It wasn't overly complicated, but it had a surprising depth of flavor._ _

__“It's a pity you never picked up Greta's skills in the kitchen,” Geralt said before taking a sip of his ale._ _

__Jaskier paused with his spoon half way to his mouth with a glare on his face before continuing to eat with one hand and flipping him off with the other. But then his lips quirked up at the corner and he threw a bread roll at him. Geralt caught it easily before dipping it in his soup bowl and eating it with a smirk. There were still lingering shadows in the bard's eyes that had most likely always been there. He was talented at hiding them, but the pain from earlier had mostly faded._ _

__When they were finished, they headed back to the bedroom where Geralt took his time undressing Jaskier. He unlaced his silks and pulled his chemise gently off of him, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he uncovered. Jaskier shuddered sighed under his touch as he relaxed into the thick blankets. His breath hitched as Geralt drifted lower and kissed his hip. His cock was already hard and weeping. Jaskier's voice rose as Geralt took him into his mouth, holding his hips down with a firm yet gentle grip._ _

__Jaskier started singing softly, his voice stuttering as Geralt lavished attention on his cock with his tongue. Geralt dug his thumbs into Jaskier's hips to hold him still as he shifted restlessly and tripped over the words of the song that had won him the championship title in Vizima the previous summer. Jaskier's fingers threaded through Geralt's hair, tugging lightly as he cried out. But before he could spill himself, Geralt pulled away, making the bard curse._ _

__“For fuck's sake Geralt,” Jaskier hissed. “Don't you fucking tease me.” He gripped Geralt's shoulders as he was lifted and settled in other man's lap. It pressed his insistent erection between them as he locked his legs around Geralt's back. “Really,” he huffed impatiently as he rubbed himself against the Witcher's abdomen. Geralt reached for the bottle they kept handy and prepped the bard, slowly opening him with his fingers as he continued to writhe in his lap._ _

__When Geralt lifted and lowered him slowly onto him, Jaskier seated himself to the hilt as quickly as he could. He arched his back and blew his cheeks out before hissing as he started to ride him, every movement dragging the tip of his cock against Geralt's stomach. And he continued to sing all the while, his voice mumbling through the words. Despite himself, Geralt found himself humming along. Jaskier let out a chuckling sigh as they finally found a rhythm together. He curled himself around Geralt tightly, pressing his face into his neck as he came. Geralt joined him quickly after and hugged the bard to him. He breathed his way through his climax and slid his hands along Jaskier's skin. Jaskier pressed lazy kisses to his neck and shoulder as he relaxed in his arms._ _

__“My Wolf,” Jaskier murmured._ _

__Geralt surprisingly didn't mind the possessive endearment. Years ago, before he'd crossed paths with the bard, he couldn't have imagined something like this. Momentary trysting in brothels and turbulent encounters with Yennefer couldn't compare. He eased Jaskier down onto the bed, wiping them both clean before curling up with him under the covers. Jaskier snuggled closer, humming in contentment. They could stay like this all day, right here. Geralt would do whatever he could to chase away whatever ghosts haunted this place. For his bard, there was very little he wouldn't do._ _

**Author's Note:**

> So once again, Jaskier and Geralt have gone off and done their own thing despite my original intentions. This story started out with different events and then slowly turned into this. I actually had to cut parts out. (The cut parts will eventually become one of the next installments in this series).


End file.
